


Praise Your New Lord

by dorianslover119



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Tomki - Fandom, frostpudding - Fandom
Genre: Implied Relationships, Light BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 12:22:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorianslover119/pseuds/dorianslover119
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Try to blend in,” Tom tells the raven-haired man at his side as he opens up his wallet and takes out money to pay for entry. He offers the top of his hand and is stamped with black ink. His companion follows his lead, but he is clearly not pleased with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Praise Your New Lord

“Try to blend in,” Tom tells the raven-haired man at his side as he opens up his wallet and takes out money to pay for entry. He offers the top of his hand and is stamped with black ink. His companion follows his lead, but he is clearly not pleased with it.

It’s dark, with only the pulsating light from a strobe and a few small light fixtures on the wall. It smells of stale booze.  Tom takes Loki by the hand and heads to the nearest bar, yelling to be heard over the pounding base coming from the speakers nearby. Loki looks around with a look of utter disgust and distain. “And what exactly is this place, Thomas? Some sort of… Midgardian entertainment?”

“Something like that,” Tom responds, taking two clear plastic cups of beer from the counter. “Don’t ask questions. Just follow me.” He takes Loki by the hand and walks to a dark spiral stair case, cordoned off with a thick velvet rope. He shows his hand to the bouncer before unlatching the rope.

Of all the clubs in London, this is perhaps one of the smallest, with only two main dance spaces—neither of which is very large or spacious. The main room is dark, save strobes and the soft glow from four TV screens suspended from the ceiling, their light catching the crystal chandelier suspended from the vaulted ceiling. The second floor is a balcony overlooking the main dance and performance space. Only the most elite gain access.  Tom would have been just fine with staying on the floor, had it been just him. But with Loki in tow… he didn’t suspect the god would appreciate being subjected to the common crowd. The upstairs is far more luxurious, with plush armschairs looking out beyond the railing. The alcohol is considerably better as well, and Tom thought to himself how much he would have to drink to make it through this night.

Tom is known for his mannerisms. He’s a gentlemen. He does nothing wrong. Never ends up in tabloids. Don’t make a mess of things. Keeps his private life to himself. People think him… what was the term people used… squeaky-clean.

He grins to himself as he takes a drink of whatever beer the downstairs bar had on tap.

Loki inspects the beer. He raises an eyebrow and looks over to Tom, who is halfway through his cup. “How can you stomach this?”

“Don’t let it touch your tongue. Just swallow quickly.”

Loki groans in the back of his throat and sets the thin plastic cup down on the small table in front of him. He leans back heavily into one corner of the red armchair, his elbow on the arm, and his first finger against his lips as he surveys the man sitting across from him. This mortal surprises him. He’s not sure why, but he does. He’s not sure what it is about him. Tom looks over the rim of his cup and the two lock eyes, but the mortal quickly looks away. Loki’s head raises in interest. He doesn’t have to be able to read minds to understand, and he cracks a grin.

The atmosphere changes and Tom looks towards the stage below. He polishes off his drink then leans back in his chair, dangling the cup in his hand. He swallows nervously. This is not his first time coming to one of these events… but it is the first time he has come with anyone else.

Before long, the sounds of heavy guitar and pounding bass is accompanied by the sounds of a flogger meeting flesh and painfully pleasured screams.

Tom goes long periods without blinking—longer than he really should. But he is transfixed. When he dares to look away from the scene below him, he finds Loki not nearly as interested. Tom looks at the empty cup in his hand then sets it down on the table. “And what do you think of it?” he asks nonchalantly, trying to hide his arousal.

Loki’s green eyes are blank. “It’s horribly dull,” he responds.

Tom laughs awkwardly. “Dull. That is not one I have heard to describe this.”

“There is more that could be done to subjugate this man, and none of it is being done.”

“And just what would you do differently?” Tom probes, reaching for the other drink on the table and slowly taking a sip.

Loki’s eyes turn dark. Threatening. Dangerous. Sexual. “Perhaps you would like to find out.”

Tom laughs again. _I am not drunk enough for this_ , he thinks to himself. He downs the contents of the rest of the small cup. When he looks from the ceiling to Loki again, his eyes are still piercing through him. “What, are you going to fuck me in the toilet?” Tom questions, leaning over the arm of the chair. “We can’t. I won’t. I’m pretty sure there are rules against that.”

Loki scoffs. “You pathetic Midgardians and your rules. I am a god.”

 _Christ, I knew that was going to come up_ , Tom thinks. His mouth moves, but he can form no words. He is not going to fuck his twin in the bathroom of a club. He’s just not. He laughs nervously to himself and looks to the floor, running his fingers through his dark hair. With his hair like this and not its usual ginger, people will really think this incest. Maybe they won’t be caught. Maybe just one quick one, then they can go home and continue. Oh, God, he needs a drink. A strong one. Maybe Everclear. Maybe an entire bottle of Everclear. He is not actually considering this!

He stares into ice green eyes. They stare back. Stare through him. Sees his heart pounding in his chest. No. Oh, God, no.

He’s not sure how he ended up in the only well-lit place in the club: the men’s room. His back is pinned against the tiled wall. A hand grips his throat. A mouth ravishes his own, and he responds. His mouth moves without his input. He thinks of everything and nothing. He feels like he’s being suffocated. He forcefully turns his head, panting for breath. But Loki is hardly finished with him. While Tom tries to calm his spinning head, the darkheaded god bites at his sharp jawline, his throat, his shoulder. Tom tightly closed his eyes and let out a sharp breath.

If anyone finds out about this, he is so getting fired.

Loki releases Tom’s throat then grips his hair, yanking his head back. The actor barely notices the yelp coming from his lips as his hands to the wrist of the god holding his head back. His shoulders heave with each breath. “You are mine,” Loki hisses into his ear. “Do you understand that? You are mine, and you will always be mine. Obey me, and I will give you everything. Everything your heart could ever desire. Simply obey me.”

Before his brain could say no, his mouth said yes. His skin burns as Loki’s fingers run up the long length of his throat. His mouth is consumed in a kiss of passion that he has never experienced. A kiss he didn’t know he ever wanted to experience. Tom barely notices the gathering group of men around them.

“You will kneel before me. You will worship me like the god that I am.”

Tom is only too willing to oblige.

 

 

When Tom wakes the next morning, he has no idea how he ended up in his own bed. His memory from the night before is rather sketchy. Did he… did he really fuck a god in the loo of a goth club? He groans and reaches up with his left hand to rub his right shoulder. He hisses slightly and looks down. Atop his collarbone is a green bruise the exact size and shape of Loki’s teeth. He’s not sure how he’s going to explain that one away. He lets out a long, exhausted breath through his nose and he shuts his eyes. His mind shows him fragments. A bite. A kiss. The smell of the jeans Tom had loaned Loki to help him fit in. Moans. Panting. Screaming. A declaration.

He opens his eyes as the chime of the doorbell fills his home. Tom stands and pulls on the nearest pair of dirty jeans. “I heard you the first time!” he yells as he jogs down the stairs towards the door.

“You look like shit,” is the first thing he hears when he opens it.

Tom lets out a scoff. “Thank you, Ben. I appreciate the vote of confidence.” He runs a hand through his hair then takes a step back, turning and walking towards the kitchen. Ben closes the door and follows him. “Coffee?” he offers.

“Coffee?You must have had an extremely rough night,” his friend muses, sitting at the table.

“You have no idea,” Tom mutters under his breath.

“I know more than you think I do. I was there.” Tom drops his mug.


End file.
